Second Sight
by Tigerlily3rd
Summary: One-shot! Severus Snape takes a second look at the boy who lived.
1. Second Sight

Second Sight  
  
By, Tigerlily  
  
Timeline/Spoilers: Takes place after Order of the Phoenix  
  
Summary/AN: One-shot! My take on the "Snape visits the Dursley's" story. Yeah it's trite and overdone, but I wanted to work it out my own way. This is also my first story that is told in first person narrative. I tried to remain faithful to Snape's character, but it was really difficult! Enjoy!  
  
Disclaimer: I don't own anything but the plot.  
  
****  
  
"We have only to believe. And the more threatening and irreducible reality appears, the more firmly and desperately must we believe. Then, little by little, we shall see the universal horror unbend, and then smile upon us, and then take us in its more than human arms."  
  
-Pierre Teilhard de Chardin-  
  
****  
  
First impressions can be deceiving. They certainly were when I first met my,. no, THE Dark Lord. He is no longer any Lord of mine. I suppose I should have noticed my error in judgment then and changed my behavior, but I am nothing if not a creature of habit.  
  
When I first met the boy he was eleven. A smaller, more gangly version of a man I had loathed most of my adolescence. A man I still bore a grudge against.  
  
Then there was the fact that he had done nothing. Everything in the world had been given to him on a silver platter. True he had defeated the Dark Lord in a single battle, but that was not a conscious effort. He is the wizarding community's golden boy. He is their puppet.  
  
And I was jealous of his ease, resented his pride.  
  
Ah yes, his notorious pride. His pride in being a Gryffindor, his pride in his parents and his friends, the list goes on. I resented his ease of trust. I had long since lost this ability.  
  
Yet in all of his glory I sensed sadness. No, sadness is not the right word. Rather I sensed a sort of subdued undercurrent. As though there was more to the boy than I or anyone else could possibly comprehend.  
  
Nevertheless I was cruel to the boy, but he was strong, much stronger than I would have previously guessed. The pride burned in him and made the impossible possible. Every time I pushed him he pushed back. I'm not sure if I resented his actions or secretly admired them. Either way I was intrigued. No one had dared to defy me in years.  
  
I began to watch the boy. I looked for a weakness. There were many. There was his foolish trust. There was his carelessness. There was his temper. There was something else I couldn't put my finger on.  
  
Years passed. My rage at the boy did not quiet. Nor did his fury at me ease. Then there was the awful day with the pensieve. That day he learned of my pain. That day my carefully constructed walls fell.  
  
I was livid. How dare the fowl little brat delve into my mind, my past, my memories. Those memories were my own and not to be seen by some petty little brat, especially THAT particular little brat.  
  
I expected to be made fun of. I expected the "fun" to start the next day. It didn't. I waited for the next day. Still nothing. He didn't do anything with the knowledge.  
  
To say I was surprised would be the understatement of the year. How could he possess such information, such power and yet do nothing with it.  
  
I followed the boy from Kings Cross at the end of the year. I watched his base interactions with his pathetic friends. I watched him get in a car with that disgusting muggle.  
  
Upon arriving at the house the boy was nearly thrown through the door. I was intrigued, but the house was quiet. I left the house and returned the next day near noon.  
  
There appeared to be a new, rather hideous, boulder in the yard of the muggles. On closer inspection I realized it was the boy. He was dressed in clothing large enough to fit a small yacht. I wondered who could possibly fill such massive clothes.  
  
With the arrival of the boy's cousin I was given an answer. I had once overheard talk of the boy's cousin who looked like a whale. The boy did resemble a whale. In fact his waddling was so awkward I was positive that he would in fact "beach" himself in the effort to walk down the front stairs.  
  
A brief exchange followed. Although I was unable to hear what was being said, the fact that the boy's cousin was beating him to a pulp did not escape my attention.  
  
Granted my fingers had itched to exact that same punishment. Yet the fact remains I have never hurt the boy. His cousin who is a foot taller as well as a good two hundred pounds heavier could hardly be declared the underdog.  
  
The Gryffindor notion that this situation was "unfair" was briefly entertained in my mind.  
  
Though the scene before me was admittedly disturbing I labeled it a one time occurrence and carried on.  
  
Yet the uneasiness remained. The irritating thought that I was acting decidedly Gryffindor in wanting to check up on the boy was counteracted by the fact I was getting little done. My work was suffering. I was distracted to say the least. I carried on in such a way for a month, my stubbornness at work, before I decided to return. I needed to set my mind to rest.  
  
I returned to muggle house. Unfortunately or fortunately as the case may be the boy was not in the yard this time.  
  
Despite the fact the thought disgusted me I decided to knock on the door. My curiosity is perhaps my greatest fault as well as my greatest gift. Such is the way of most personality quirks.  
  
Perhaps there was in fact a sadistic part of me looking forward to the look of shear horror I would receive from the boy.  
  
But the real reason remained that I knew I would be unable to achieve peace if I could not reconcile the old information with the new.  
  
As any true spy would I dressed as a muggle so as not to arouse suspicion.  
  
I was prepared for the worst. That is to say I prepared for disgusting soppy muggles and the boys insufferable stupidity.  
  
I can "honestly" say (ah the irony of such a statement) that I have never been more surprised in my life than I was at that day.  
  
After ringing the door there were thundering footsteps and harshly ground out orders. Just as I was about to try once again to ring the doorbell the front door swung open.  
  
Merlin! The man that greeted me was even larger than that infernal whale of a child I had seen earlier. He gazed at me with a greedy sort of interest and I did what all good spies do, I lied.  
  
After a rousing round of verbal tag I managed to convince him that I was in fact with some sort of awards society. The prospect of money very much interested him and the fool let me into his home.  
  
I would have to tell Dumbledore of this. The houses wards would do nothing if the damned muggles LET the Deatheaters onto the property and even they, stupid though they are, would be able to lie to that idiot!  
  
The family assembled in the living room. It did not escape my notice that the boy did not appear. It also did not escape my notice that there was no sign the boy in fact DID live there. Hundreds of pictures of that hideous blob they called son were scattered, rather too liberally to my liking, about the room. Of the boy there was no trace.  
  
There was a soft thump from behind me and I scanned the stairs to the back. I was convinced the infernal boy was about to make a grandiose entry. He did not deliver.  
  
I enquired about the sound. The muggle's face turned a highly unnatural shade of purple. He appeared more than a little agitated about my questioning the origin of the sound.  
  
Another thump was heard. This was closely followed by a muffled moan. I knew that voice. Merlin knows I've been around often enough when the boy has been in pain to be able to recognize the sound. The boy was there after all. I thought for sure he was avoiding me, that his pathetic excuse for family tried to cover his arse for him.  
  
The man spat at his wife to offer me refreshments while he "dealt" with the problem. Watching discretely I discovered he was walking not in the direction of the entrance to the stairs as I had supposed, but rather into the stairs. No, not into them, there was a door there. Small. I assumed it was some sort of closet or cupboard. No doubt they were holding illegal animals or immigrants, I didn't really care.  
  
I wasn't surprised when he kicked the door and harshly hissed "shut-up now or you'll get it." I WAS surprised when he added one little word.  
  
Boy.  
  
As if in a dream I stood and walked towards the man. He moved to stand forcibly in front of it but I was not to be deterred and my mere look stopped his actions.  
  
I opened the door. The man didn't try to stop me. He was obviously frightened of me, most people are.  
  
With a creak the door opened and out rolled the boy.  
  
At first sight he didn't appear all that much changed from when I'd last seen him, but on closer inspection I realized that there was something very much wrong with the boy.  
  
I knelt and turned his head towards me.  
  
To say the boy was emaciated would be the understatement of the year. The hollows in his cheeks were unnatural and his skin had acquired a translucent quality.  
  
I had to get him to Hogwarts and fast. Of this much I was certain. I picked the boy up. He was delirious, feverish, and mumbling incomprehensible things. Occasionally his left leg would spastically kick out as though it had a will of its own.  
  
The journey to Hogwarts was a blur. I did not chance using magic because of the wards. I had broken many rules in bringing the boy to Hogwarts and it was necessary for no one to know that the boy had in fact left the house.  
  
Dumbledore had assured all the staff that the boy would be safe at his home and the Deatheaters new this as well. It would be best if they continued to believe that the boy was still in the protection of the muggles.  
  
I found it highly ironic that the one place the boy was "safe" was also the one place he was not. Oh the muggles couldn't kill him I knew that well. Actually it was later revealed that any other person wizard or no would have undoubtedly died from the conditions he endured, but the boy did not.  
  
When I arrived at Hogwarts I was immediately relieved of my burden. Apparently Dumbledore in his omnipotence had been able to see that I was coming. Madam Pomfrey bore the boy away and I followed Albus up to his tower for some of his patented "interrogation tea".  
  
All was right with the world.  
  
****  
  
There is a second part to this story. It's from Harry's point of view and will continue where this story broke off. It hasn't truly even been started yet though. Check back later to see it if you're interested.  
  
P.S. Please review! ( 


	2. When You Thought I Wasn't Looking

When You Thought I Wasn't Looking  
  
By, Tigerlily  
  
Disclaimer: Don't own anything but the plot.  
  
Timeline/Spoilers: After OotP  
  
Summary: Sequel to Second Sight. Harry takes another look at the Potions master he thought he knew.  
  
Author Notes: Thank you everyone for all your wonderful reviews. This part would have come out much later had you not encouraged me to continue the story!  
  
As to some skepticism I have received about the validity of the Dursley's starving Harry I have this to say. Vernon Dursley I think is rather too frightened of Harry's protectors (Moody etc.) to actually lay a hand on him. Petunia seems too weak of a person to try anything more than a slap. As for Dudley... Yes, I did write that he was beating up Harry, but he was not present for Moody's little threat and he believes (stupidly) that his father can protect him. Starvation seemed the sort of route that they would take if they were to hurt Harry. It's a rather passive action and cannot necessarily be blamed on them. They could claim Harry was so distraught he couldn't eat etc...  
  
This story was originally archived as its own story after a great deal of confusion on the part of the reader I have moved it here. Although it is not truthfully the second chapter of Second Sight.

* * *

"Hold it the greatest sin to prefer existence to honor and for the sake of life to lose the reasons for living."  
  
-Juvenal-

* * *

Waking up in the infirmary wasn't a new experience for me. Waking up and seeing Professor Snape sleeping in the chair next to me was.  
  
For a moment confusion reigned. I struggled to remember what had happened.  
  
Then it hit me. Hogwarts. I wasn't supposed to be there. It was summer vacation and I was supposed to be with the Dursley's. For a moment I felt a panic well inside of me. Had something happened at the Dursley's? For all I knew it was possible there had been another attack.  
  
Deciding that information was more important to me than avoiding a snarky Professor I decided to wake up Snape.  
  
I paused, my hand almost touching the man. I had never voluntarily touched him and I was vaguely disturbed when I did.  
  
He was warm.  
  
I suppose like everyone else I thought cold blood ran in his veins.  
  
A brief touch and his eyes flashed open. Locked with mine and I froze. My hand still hovered near his and I pulled it back like a naughty child.  
  
A pregnant pause and I opened my mouth to speak, but he abruptly raised a hand to stop me. With the jerk he motioned toward the door.  
  
Dumbledore had arrived.  
  
I was suddenly strangely glad that he hadn't been there when I'd woken up. His absence had allowed time to glimpse Snape without his Armour.  
  
Snape stood and exchanged a brief word with Dumbledore before leaving the room abruptly.  
  
Dumbledore then approached me and began the long, convoluted process of "not" explaining what had happened. All I managed to glean from the man was the fact that Snape had arrived at Hogwarts with me, unconscious, in tow.  
  
I wasn't sure exactly what to say to that. What to think of this information, especially when Dumbledore mention in that offhand way of his that he had in no way told Snape to fetch me.  
  
I was allowed to stay at Hogwarts for the remainder of the summer. It was the eighteenth of July and I couldn't have been happier. I was allowed to stay in the one place that I called "home".  
  
Of course a week later I wasn't quite so excited. Most of the castle was locked up considering it was summertime and no one was around either. The only people that had stayed at Hogwarts for the summer were Dumbledore, Pomfrey, Filch and of course Snape.  
  
Because of this I was really starved for some human company. Sure I occasionally had tea with Dumbledore, but he was a busy man and rarely had the time to indulge a child. I honestly didn't have any real desire to speak to Pomfrey and certainly none for Filch.  
  
Snape on the other hand I wasn't sure about. Before this incident I wouldn't have even considered willingly placing myself in his company, but I found I couldn't understand why he had rescued me from the Dursley's.  
  
So I took to watching the man, just a half glance here and a stolen look there. He didn't appear too different from the Snape I remembered.  
  
Then one day it happened. I caught another rare glimpse of the man Snape kept hidden inside.  
  
McGonagall had returned to Hogwarts after setting the affairs from her sister's death. She came into the great hall disheveled and obviously upset. If she was surprised at seeing me there she didn't show it. With a long exhausted sigh she plunked her body down in the chair next to Snape.  
  
Snape, who was currently reading the paper, placed a cup of hot tea in front of McGonagall without even a second glance. A moment later he raised a single eyebrow in her direction, but she merely shook her head and he nodded in response.  
  
I recognized the look on his face. It was the same look Ron or Hermione would give me after a particularly trying experience. Usually it was an experience that we weren't allowed to talk about. So we had learned to use the subtle language of raised eyebrows and meaningful gestures.  
  
I saw the mute inquiry by Snape and McGonagall's equally slight response. He had asked her if she was all right, if she needed help.  
  
Two days later when I was passing by McGonagall's quarters I saw him place something in front of her door. It was a vase with a single flower in it.  
  
I waited around in the shadows until McGonagall returned to her quarters. When she saw what was there, her tired, drawn face lifted. She smiled a sad little smile, picked up the vase and entered her quarters.  
  
I was curious and the next day when McGonagall offered to have to tea with me I accepted.  
  
McGonagall and I chatted about mundane trivial things for awhile and then she smiled and told me she had requested my presence for a reason. She wanted to share with me the pictures of her sister. Through convoluted wizarding lineage I was in fact related to the woman.  
  
She explained to me that her sister's name was named after a flower called an azalea. The very same type of flower that I had seen Snape deliver to McGonagall's quarters...  
  
I suppose this incident only incited more curiosity in me. I wanted to understand this strange man that only rarely showed in the Professor.  
  
So I watched.  
  
A week passed before I caught another glance of the enigma. Former Professor Lupin arrived at Hogwarts wearing threadbare robes and a weary smile. Professor Snape appeared with the frothing goblet of wolfsbane and delivered it without a smile.  
  
I waited in the shadows and wondered where Remus would go in order to transform. I would have offered my company, but he was not allowed to know I was not at the Dursley's.  
  
Snape merely gestured for Remus to follow him. He was moving slowly enough, I noted, that Remus could sip the potion as well as walk. I followed at a safe distance and started in surprise at where they were.  
  
Snape's private quarters. Emphasis on the word PRIVATE. I had never seen anyone enter Snape's chambers, or leave for that matter. That day with my very eyes I watched as he opened his home, at least for a few hours, to a man that had tried to kill him.  
  
Perhaps Snape did this only because he wanted to be sure where exactly Remus was, or to watch the effects of his potion. Or maybe he wanted to confront a fear of werewolves. I certainly didn't know what possessed the man to open his door, but I wasn't complaining. Remus needed more companionship and security than the world was giving him.  
  
More incidents began to appear before my very eyes. A small touch here, or a covert gesture here and slowly the man became more human. It was with no small amount of surprise that I realized that Snape made these gestures all the time. They were so small that I and no one else had ever even noticed. Now that I did notice I was fiercely curious. The problem lay in approaching the man, because he did in fact loathe my company.  
  
Luckily an opportunity presented itself on my birthday.  
  
I had gone to the kitchens in order to grab a bite to eat. Once there I was literally accosted by Dobby. He and all the other kitchen elves had a created a cake. An ENORMOUS cake. The words "Happy Birthday Harry" were written across the top and I smiled as I remembered the first cake I had ever received.  
  
With a deep breath I blew out the candles.  
  
With tears of happiness Dobby cut a slice so large even Hagrid would have blanched and placed it in front of me. I smiled a tad weakly. I didn't really have the stomach for cake just then. The idea that I was celebrating my birthday alone, again, was rather too depressing.  
  
So I barely registered Dobby cutting another slice of the cake. That is until Dobby headed into the shadows of the kitchen and I realized I could discern the smoky outline of a figure standing there.  
  
Then Dobby piped up and asked if a Mr. Snape would be wanting some of Mr. Potter's cake. The idea that Snape was lurking in the shadows yet again almost made me laugh, but I was too interested in the reply to actually do so.  
  
Without a sound Snape materialized before me. He was as frighteningly imposing as always, but my opinion of him had changed and he did not grate against my nerves as he used to.  
  
He didn't say a word, just picked up a fork and ate my cake with me. I realize how much that must have cost him. He hates sweet things and has commented on that more than once to Dumbledore, but he ate that cake with me.  
  
Maybe he felt sorry for me. Or maybe he understood just what it was like to celebrate your birthday alone. I've never asked him the details of his change of heart towards me, I just appreciate it for what it is.  
  
And that cake, I suppose, was the start of it all.  
  
Two years later we could almost be labeled friends. If not that, than at least not enemies any longer.  
  
He asked me one day what exactly made me change my mind about him. I smiled and told him, "You thought I wasn't looking..." He merely blinked at me. So I continued, my smile growing wider by the minute.  
  
"I was." 


End file.
